Those Office Hours
by VictoriousNagini
Summary: Ben has something on his computer that might just turn Leslie off. Or will it? {Mentions of Ron, April, Andy, and Ann. Set around Season 3 . Yeah we're goin' way back, peeps. Possibly right after 'Harvest Festival'. Either way, B&L haven't dated yet.}


**A/N 1:** To be honest, I don't care much for writing fluff—I'll make an exception if 'humor' is involved, nor do I care to read 'puppy-dog-eyes-fluff-that-gives-you-a-tooth-ache in most of my fandoms. So why in the _hell_ do I continue to write it? Because. It's. Ben. And. Leslie. Dammit. *Deserved Faceplam*

**A/N 2:** OK. This may look a tad like a certain other fic I wrote, but I assure you it's not. Because it essentially deals with Fanfic {Oh the days I longed for this to become an actual episode}, and me having a serious love for the characters on this show already {Yes I'm a newbie. An _uncultured_ newbie, I am not}. This may have sprung from my first serious love for 'Mockumentery', The Office. Ben & Leslie are like Jim & Pam's offspring, only more adorkable and way more insane. Also, I have nothing against fiction writers {I AM one.}, if you happen to read a certain part. And this being my first Parks&Rec fic, the characters may be a little OOC—plus I'm a bit worried that Leslie may come off as too nosy, hopefully not though. If it doesn't follow the show exactly, it's just a story in the end, crack or not. This is mainly told from Ben's POV. BTW, does Pawnee have State Police? Y/N? Oh well. All right, enough lollygagging people. It's time to get shit done.

Enjoyxx

_City Hall—__Saturday, __12:10pm_

Ben had the office to himself this weekend. For the most part at least, if you don't count a person by the name of Ron Swanson. Ben still felt tentative concerning where he stood with the guy, who was intensely indifferent about _everything_, and people like Ron tended to make him uneasy and awkward—more than usual. Though he supposed he could get along with him for Leslie's sake, not a matter he cared for, apparently. Speaking of, Leslie and Ann had gone to some important convention; the two were seen discussing it all week during lunch, something about 'rare squirrels'.

Whatever.

The rest of the team took the weekend off naturally, and Ben being one of those people who had to finish what he started, he didn't understand Ron's motive for staying, never could. Especially when he found a voice mail on his answering machine that morning, he hadn't been expecting to hear Ron's urgent message super early on a Saturday. That also included April, who thankfully hasn't been seen anywhere outside the vicinity all weekend. Generally, April Ludgate creeped him out and he would rather share his daily work environment with Ron. Or a Bear. Technically the choice isn't fair, but a choice against a girl who could turn manipulative at the drop of a hat. Better, if said hat contained money.

Even under involuntary purposes, he'd stroll past her desk one morning, on his despondent journey to the copy machine for instance, and there would lay that flat, utterly condescending, and innocently plotting world domination, gaze—and she was only what, twenty-one? Jesus. Ben was never so glad in his life that looks couldn't kill. He swore he could still sense her eyes on him during his trip to the cafeteria later. He had a premonition something simmered beneath the surface between her and Andy. But he didn't feel strongly enough to actually make sense of that _three-fries-short-of-a-happy-meal_ relationship. It is what it is and he could be capable of being selfish when the mood strikes. There were other things, important things, to worry about.

He heard an indistinct noise and leaned a bit past his computer screen to take a quick scan outside his office. Seeing the coast clear, he shrugged and brought up the webpage again, tapping his foot anxiously on the carpet. Knowing full well he could've waited until he got back to his suite, 'Apartment' as it was properly called at work, to do it, but he couldn't stand _waiting_ another minute to read what happened at the end.

Halfway through, and hell-bent on concentrating, the door to his office opened a few inches. Unbeknown to Ben, Leslie Knope crept in and walked over towards his desk, noticing how intent he seemed with the screen in front of him. She popped her head in the space, a directly seven-inch space, beside his computer.

"Knock knock. What are you looking at?"

Ben swiveled around so fast he nearly sent his chair toppling to the floor, while in the process knocking various items on his desk askew. After managing to keep that first disastrous scene from happening, and fortunately remembering to press the right button to return to his desktop, gaped disbelievingly at his co-workers idyllic face. "Leslie! Hi! What are you doing here?"

He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly; the words 'classic fish motion' floating at the back of his mind, and upon realizing absolutely anything would refuse to come out at this present moment, closed it and tried again. He arranged the items occupying his desk back to their ideal order and went for less squeaky this time. "I mean, I thought you were at a… convention?"

"The Rare Squirrels in Odd Places convention in Iowa? Yeah, but that turned out to be a real dud. Once you surpass the first hour of 'The Origin of Squirrels and The Patterns of Nuts' I pretty much wanted Ann to shoot me in the face. Or was it Ann? Hey, you ever notice how Ann has that way of cocking her head to the side and wrinkling up her nose, you know, when she thinks an idea is stupid but not actually saying it?

"Sort of like a squirrel?" He finished, corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. At this point, Ben was trying hard not to laugh. Which he noted as kind of weird for him, usually he didn't get half the stuff that came out if her mouth, and the other half he spent guessing at what would come next, or should. Despite his nonplussed sentiment towards her, the energy surrounding her presence could be so infectious sometimes.

"Exactly! So what were you looking at that you hid when I came in? Your desktop is very cute by the way; the cats are a nice touch." She absently pointed a polished nail at his Desktop Wallpaper; he'd forgotten he changed it yesterday to the one showing three kittens frolicking in dandelions outside of a farmhouse—obviously glad it wasn't the one presenting Jessica Alba, in her Bikini-clad glory.

Was she being deliberately oblivious? Did she really not know and hoped he'd spill? To his embarrassment, it's happened before. He still couldn't figure her out sometimes; she _did_ have a unique personality that was starting to grow on him. He decided to roll the dice and go for broke.

"Uh, nothing. How is Ann? Minus the whole 'shooting range' incident." He said while making little air quotes. To which Leslie found adorable, hell, everything about Ben was adorable. The way he took small bites when trying something new rather than gulping it down—much like Andy, or the way he slowed down for animals crossing the road as oppose to speeding through to see if the animal would chance it or not. Once more, like Andy. Those were only a few she thought of off-hand and she especially looked forward to making him smile at least five times every morning. Under the jaded, practical, awkward, and almost insufferable proficient interior, she knew his heart was in the right place. Most of the time, anyway. Maybe he wasn't such a cold fish after all.

"She's good. Handling it a little better these days, I guess."

Ben nodded. Understanding the breakup had been rough for Ann these past few weeks. He had liked Chris from a respected point of view, more or less because they'd been business associates—albeit at arms length, still, a view however. Besides being excessively positive and overbearingly health conscious, Ben secretly envied his 'go-getter' attitude.

"Oh, is that Game Of Thrones?"

"Um, what? No. Of course not. What? Why?" Ben stammered; looking for the entire world like a kid who stuck his hand in the cookie jar before dinnertime.

"No, it is. I can see the link from here." She spoke in a calm tone, as if she were only pointing absently at a passing cloud taking the shape of some haphazard object.

"Actually, that's just a screensaver-"

"So you read Fanfiction?" Crossing her arms and giving him the 'political' version of the arched, Leslie Bullshit Detector Eyebrow.

Ben's brain mentally shut down for an unknown variation of time; Leslie knows what Fanfiction is? The resident savior of Pawnee, knows what Fanfiction is. Reading stories based on random fictional characters that people who hardly have lives, or lack thereof, and armed with several 'above average' facts to create an exceptionally large fan base around the fandom and then write a story about it? He knew it was certainly going to start snowing when he got back to his car. More importantly, she caught him reading it. Red handed. He needed a cover in case this got out, not like he thought she'd blab...

"It's research." He continued when she stared expectantly. "Well, it's for an old friend. Chris would hate it if I told you, but-"

"Chris?" She wrinkled her nose, doing a staggering impression of a disproving Ann. "Why would Chris be reading Fanfiction? Oh! Is he in some protection program and the only escape to the outside world is to share his love for his favorite fandom with fellow fans? Can you get that in the Witness Protection Program? I don't think you can. But I could be wrong, because I've been wrong about weird things like this before. Like the time my uncle told me that you couldn't get rabies from Raccoons if you touch them behind the ears. Though that other time at the office proved otherwise, huh?"

Leslie laughed and gave him a light punch on the shoulder; she never understood why guys, preferably guys who were co-workers, gave her that mixed expression of bewilderment and fear whenever she tried the friendly gesture. Ben let out a nervous, almost inaudible, chuckle.

"Something along those lines, yeah." _Did she even stop to take a breath after all of that?_ Ben usually couldn't remember much when Leslie worked herself up into a whirlwind of words, all scampering for a place at the finish line. He vacantly rubbed his shoulder._ I should probably take two painkillers later anyway._

In truth, Ben just couldn't bring himself to such a level of optimism, and perkiness; the glass was either half full or half empty, depending on his mood on a particular day. And it most definitely depended on the early hours of dawn. See, it took time to become 'Ben Wyatt' in the morning, to be what was expected of 'Ben Wyatt'. He even found himself laughing quietly on few occasions at the fact that her last name rhymed with 'hope'. He found it vaguely… charming. What did 'Wyatt' rhyme with, you ask? They only thing came to mind was a light bulb. A 100-_Watt,_ light bulb. His life could be very pathetic at times.

"What's the story about?"

"What?" Drifted a remote reply from Ben.

Leslie mockingly snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Keep it together, Captain!"

He blinked, now presumably snapped out of some deep reverie. "Well, it's a journey about Daenerys Targaryen, A.K.A 'Mother of the Dragons', after the death of Khal, Sansa and Arya join her too. Daario pretty much kills the setting for me, the odd man out I guess, though Jorah took care of the problem shortly, and expertly, during chapter nineteen. The wedding was gorgeous." Ben noticed Leslie's stunned appearance and shook his head. "Okay, let's forget the last sentence. Never speak of it."

"Um, Ben—"

He shrugged and continued like she hadn't said a word. "It's basically considered a fix-it. I find it comparatively AU, but it's inspiring to say the least."

"Yeah, I don't—"

"Twenty chapters consisting mainly of adventure, devious plots, and Dragons. They totally deem the medieval era awesome in my book. All the while staying occasionally funny and in character, granted, not an easy feat."

"Wow, they go that high? No, seriously—"

"Lots of Blood, though, and a little too much smut for my tastes—"

"BEN!"

Shouting his name with enough force so he'd finally pay attention, given he was seemingly on a roll. _And people think I'm the bizarre one? Jeez._ Leslie thought, but didn't say it.

Ben shot her a weird look, and Leslie wondered why until she realized she had in fact spoken said thought aloud. Whoops.

Sighing with the face of someone who takes great effort in explaining the meaning of life to a class of third graders, she went on. "I meant I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

If he was offended, he didn't show it. "But you told me you knew what Fanfiction was?" The confusion was evident in his voice when he spoke.

"Yes! That doesn't mean I know what Game Of Thrones is about." She considered the name, those wheels hardly ever stopped turning once they were started. "Wouldn't that make a cool name for a water slide? I should be writing this stuff down, do you have a pen? And possibly a notebook? An entire notebook should do it, maybe three. Four."

Ben, taken aback for what could be the hundredth time that afternoon, assumed in his rightful bubble of oblivion that Leslie knew what he was talking about wholeheartedly. Didn't most people? Well, if they didn't, they should.

"Then why'd you ask?"

"I don't know, you just looked super happy and cute when you were trying to make an excuse," Crap, why couldn't she ever stop the horrible onslaught of words from ruining a conversation when she got excited? "And I didn't want to…" She stopped mid sentence with the sudden revelation of what she revealed—she hadn't even discussed it during her trip with Ann. "Did I just say 'cute'?"

"I think you made it quite clear," Heat rose to his face, Leslie actually thought he was _cute_? Not revolting? Cute. "Yes Leslie, you did." Half the office mainly stuck to a quick 'hello' and left before he could participate in a decent conversation, he saw the contempt always end in pity when he tried to attempt the latter, regardless if he was at one of those mildly exciting office parties. The other half chose to ignore until necessary contact had been made.

"You know, as in 'Froggy-ish'." She corrected, making air quotes of her own. "No? Okay, maybe in a Teddy Bear sort of way. If that makes sense."

"It does, I think." He said, tilting head and contemplating that he couldn't believe the conversation he was having, with Leslie KNOPE of all people. He hoped he wasn't going to be in a fatal accident neither later in the day nor at the hands of a suddenly psychopathic April. "I'll take Teddy Bear. Although I don't think I would describe myself as… Froggy? You are—you must be joking?" He questioned with semi-intense honesty, his face bordering on incredulous. Some things just weren't destined to go together in biology terms.

"Of course, Ben!" Leslie gave him a look as if he'd been enough to dumb to fall for her joke. "You gotta loosin' those wires up a little, you know? Take the plunge sometimes; just don't take it when there's ice. Ice is not fun once cracked." She took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I-I guess what I'm trying to say is, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the work you've done for this company," A pause. "The rest of the department does too."

She glanced down at her feet, the purple heels matching her smoke grey suit and Polka Dot blouse. If he had a quarter of the guts to wear something remotely close to Polka Dots, the heavens would rejoice. "They don't always show it, but they do accept the hard work you've put in. Give it time, okay?"

"Wow. Thank you, Leslie. I truly do look forward to making this work better for everyone involved. In any case, no more shut downs in the future, huh?"

Leslie nodded. Several minutes were spent uncomfortably staring between the two before Ben let out a sigh. "You're not leaving until you see it, are you?"

"Inevitably not, Captain."

"Okay, first rule, stop calling me Captain. Be it at the job around co-workers or anywhere else."

"Aw, but it's catchy." She stated firmly; blowing a stray hair out of her face when a thought occurred. "Are we bantering? I love to banter."

"Yeah, it really isn't. And it isn't appropriate, either." Ben said, deliberately disregarding her question.

Leslie pouted her famous pout while Ben ran an exasperating hand over his face. "All right, all right" Holding up his hands in a truce, for some reason he didn't want to find himself on her bad side, coincidentally when she was the first person here to get on speaking terms with him.

"JJ's?"

"Fine. And only while consuming Waffles. Cool?" Because Leslie and Waffles topped with whipped cream set into motion all sorts of fantasizes he didn't want. Though, he made a special note to file them away for later use.

Leslie saluted him and smiled, Ben happily returned it with a shy grin of his own. "I will warn you though, some of these pages are NSFW. You know what that means, right?"

She rolled her lovely blue eyes and gave a slight toss of her golden blonde hair, hair that wasn't actually golden per se; she undoubtedly preferred the sound of it in the mirror when alone. "Ben, Ben, Ben. Benji. I'll have you know that I once wrote fiction based on Murder She Wrote, for a challenge I think, which was basically a ticket to as much smut as you can fit into five chapters. And guess what?"

'Benji' sat watching her like she'd pretty much hitched a ride on the crazy train. "Oh. My. God. Are we talking about _Angela Lansbury_, and that old eighties show about a middle aged woman who happens to be a mystery writer solving crimes in various places? Do I want to know?"

"You'll want to know, and yes, Angela Lansbury whom I may have taken the nickname of in high school. But that isn't important, what it boils down to is, I always figured she committed the crimes and framed everyone she had taken into custody. If only to see them squirm just because she could get away with it. I wonder if she paid them off or was it a 'kill two birds with one stone' type of pact—I mean, doesn't she just scream badass villain? Plus, who would suspect her? For all we discern, she could've been a ghost. That would explain how she carried on to the next devious plan perfectly—"

Ben began slowly thumping his head against his desk.

Leslie didn't bat an eyelash. "OK, I get it. I'm sorry for interrupting."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Seriously Ben! You're going to get a migraine."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Crossing her arms, Leslie said nothing and glanced bemusingly at the camera.

Ben opened an eye and peered up at Leslie. _She is head of the department right? No? Yes. I don't know. So what is Ron's purpose and why the hell is he still here? IS he here?_

Ben's thought progression wasn't functioning properly anymore. Banging your head against a cold hard desk for a long period of time will do that.

He lifted his head and took this opportunity to cough, loudly, and shifted some papers around. Assuming he'd made his point and dodged a major bullet listening to a ridiculous speculation about a show that had long since passed its due date. "You were telling me what happened in a challenge?"

"Yeah, sorry," She appeared guilty at getting off topic; except Ben could also see she'd been waiting for this moment. "Anyway, I got banned from ten different sites. Save a site called Livetopic. And Vista. Probably."

Leslie noticed his eyes had a glazed look to them; he could picture her writing it as she sat at her computer in her pajamas, staying up into the wee hours of the morning, munching on waffles whilst typing a suggestive scene of…No. Holy crap on toast, he would not go _there_. Not for a hundred, a million perhaps, but not a hundred. He sat up abruptly and cleared his throat. "Damn, I'm real sorry to hear that. Shame, it could've turned out to be a hit with the locals. Especially Vista, everyone loves that site." He managed, stifling a laugh.

She shoved him, almost laughing herself. "Very funny. I'm a good writer, B-dub. I had tons of comments on THAT little piece of art. Like someone great once said, 'no one knows how they're going to be remembered. All we can do is hope for the best. Maybe that's what kept her writing. Same thing that keeps me travelling'."

You… read Doctor Who Fiction? Or Star Track?

No. Ew. God Ben. And who is Doctor Who? I've read Horton Hears A Harlot. Whoever made that mad piece of fiction deserves to be put in jail, let me tell you. Horton Hears A Who is a classic, dammit. Wait, I put one too many 'who's' in there, didn't I?"

He sighed. Apparently both his parents were right today about something; he was a nerd at heart.

"Forget it, I'm sure you did an awesome job. Please, Leslie, don't call me B-dub. Nor should anyone else." Ben was still surprised that his diminutive joke didn't go straight over her head, as did most of his jokes with others around the office. "Maybe I could read your work sometime?"

"Sure. Relax, it's a free country. What chapter are you on? Oh, we should write something together!"

"Twenty, the last chapter, and I definitely can't see myself reaching your level of fame. I haven't written anything since, I don't know, college? Besides, this isn't for me, remember?"

"Right and you practically stumbled upon this site. Knowing enough to get by? How long have you read it?" Her tone teasing, he should throw in the towel now. She already knew more than he'd intended to ever tell her.

His mouth twitched into a tight-lipped smile. "This story? Everyday for the last month. On whole, I'd say a couple years."

"A couple years? Ben, we could've been partners in crime! Filling the fandom world with our exciting new adventures in politics and the people of Pawnee. Well, mine. I know you don't like to address the 'Mayor' incident, we'll stick to our work relationships instead when it comes to the point of writing an admirable story."

"Um, I'll get back to you on that," He thumbed towards the screen that now showed the fanfic in all its clarity. "You won't mention this to anyone, will you? Especially Ron, he can be kind of—well..."

Ben trailed off, seeming incapable of going further. When it came to Ron he was at a lost for explanation.

She held up a hand. "Say no more. I won't breathe a word." A second passes; Leslie draws her attention to the ceiling. "Unless…"

"I knew it, Leslie you can't blackmail me!"

She squinted and spoke in a low voice. "So we've come to this junction in your final training, young grasshopper."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just pinky promise on writing a fic with me the following week from today. Deal?"

He groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to. Either promise, or I'll call Hilary."

"Clinton?"

"Is there any other?"

"Liar." Says a taunting Ben, grinning just the same.

"I know people, Ben." She said, leaning closer and giving him a stern face. "I. Know. People."

Ben could do nothing but stare into the camera. _Is she for real?_

"Or at least Ron does, sit tight, I'll go get him," She started for the door, already calling for a man who probably wouldn't hear her regardless of the thin glass.

He got up and placed a hand on her shoulder, she came to a halt. "Whoa, Leslie, let's be rational about this."

She put her pinky finger in his face, determination settled in her features. "Promise."

He figured it a sure bet better than having Swanson waltzing in here, demanding them to straighten up their stupid act upon seeing the evidence on his computer screen, face locked in an impossibly hard expression that would take a normal person years to achieve, let alone conquer. Ben had a concise thought his mother may have been right about your features staying a certain way over a period of time. He could also go running to Chris and he didn't need a letter in his file right now, much less getting Leslie in trouble in the process. Plus, if Chris asked him one more time what they should do, his head would spontaneously explode. Period. Good news? He'd possibly become the top cover story on CNN. Bad news? He'd possibly trend Twitter. Tactless, sure, but maybe not the worse way to go.

Though, he knows Chris would have his back in a pinch. Sort of.

What the hell.

"I Promise."

Pinkies together, he realized his left hand was still lying on her shoulder. He quickly removed it and stepped back, breaking the entwined fingers. "Finish it with me?"

"What else should I be doing?" She stated. Giving him an instantly energized grin.

"Probably working on your presentation for next week's meeting. Which, you hopefully have done ahead of schedule."

He noted her downward cast and how silent she was. "Leslie, you didn't."

"I was going to have it done, honest. Okay, possibly on the very day." The last bit came out in a rush and Ben wished he hadn't asked. It didn't matter if the chairman of the board was sitting at the meeting, nope, everything would be peachy keen—he swallowed back a gulp. "But enough about that, you said this story involved blood _and_ smut? Those are two of my favorite things related in fiction!"

He nodded solemnly, tilting his head and looking more perplexed by the minute. She understood a second later after replaying what she'd said in her mind.

"Uh, that is to say, _adventure_ and smut." She rephrased, releasing a giggle she'd felt ready to burst since finding out Ben read Fanfiction.

"Right, let's finish this chapter and go for a bite to eat at that new Thai restaurant?"

"The one where they let you eat off the bathroom floor for a small fee and waitress' dive into that gigantic tank mostly filled with sharks to bring you a fresh clam to go with the tofu you order?"

"Yes. They also let you keep the pearl they sometimes find. Back up, what sharks?"

"Er, never mind. I must be thinking of Dine and Dash in Iowa. I wonder why they shut that place down. You got a free necklace out of the shark's teeth they'd find the waitress'…hmm. Yeah. Answered my own question, there."

Ben hummed; it sounded like a place she would visit.

They walked back to his desk, Leslie, having pulled a chair from the lobby, sat impatiently beside his. As the time reached twelve-thirty, Leslie got up to stretch and Ben put his computer into Sleep mode. "You were right, it is a lot of blood for a Fanfic. A lot of Bloody violence, too. Lots of people getting their intestines ripped out, and heads cut off. Interesting, nonetheless. The smut was nice, though. Why did you warn me earlier? I've seen worse."

"I agree. I find the epoch and the way they survived compelling, even if it's fiction." Ben paused and turned, a hand resting on the doorknob. "You have? Then again, I never pegged you for a smut lover. " Although that information could be put to good use, he mentally shook himself. Sometimes the office rules sucked.

"I'm not completely invalid, Ben, and don't you have HBO? It's an essential part of life. True facts."

"Ah." He grabbed his jacket as well as hers, holding it out and waiting until she slipped her arms through. "Must've missed that episode."

"Yeah, True Blood isn't bad either. I just don't get why they stay in that one little town full of monsters, you'd think everyone would deem it deserted. I suppose the Vampires wouldn't have anything to nibble on but the Werewolves—also, you ever notice the Vampire's have strength way stronger than a human, yet they can't defeat Werewolves? Isn't that crazy?" Leslie laughed as she shouted she was riding shotgun.

"Very."

They were buckled in and he'd started the car when she turned to him. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For understanding and not being weird, angry, distant, and kicking me out of your office. Or making a call to the police because I don't think I can handle it again." She took a breath. Making a confession, especially one revealing her true feelings, was usually difficult on her. "Any of the above, honestly."

Ben could say he felt moved, he could say he felt a lot of things. He was never exactly great with emotions, regardless; he learned one thing from today if nothing else.

"I should be thanking you."

Leslie didn't say anything as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main highway; she didn't need to because her grin said it all.

Ben knew today wouldn't be the start of another dreary weekend consisting of TV dinners and the occasional James Patterson novel—the exception being another trip to the local Art Gallery. And the exasperating workload? Not worth mentioning. He would need time to mull things over, like he did when deciding any serious decision, time to see where his place is in this department, in this new relationship. He mentally brushed the term aside. Since when did he address their acquaintance, now something akin to becoming friends, as a 'relationship'? He was approaching the subject completely wrong and instead caught himself using an open mind. This isn't the usual way he'd handle a delicate situation such as this. He mostly stuck to a profound logic in his past dating expose', but they'd never gone anywhere meaningful, if you don't count the one incident where he briefly got engaged, which lasted month if you believed his side of the story, when the woman in question grew domineering and bored of his ways—saying he didn't fit her criteria after all because she wasn't ready for a relationship that serious and left the following night. What a fool he'd felt then. He quickly got over it however since it was her who'd proposed in the first place. Although this would be different, if nothing else, he'd gain a friend even if it went against his personal rule of not getting too close too soon in a new city. And, in the end, you had to keep your friends close, right? Maybe it was pass time he settled down for a while.

Ben switched on the radio. Turning the station until he found Beethoven. Frowning, he skipped stations and found Al Green.

"You don't like Ezra Vine's Celeste?" Taking note of a particular song that got skipped. It had become one of her favorites.

"It isn't that, exactly." The comment trailing off, he yawned and glanced lazily at his mirror, noticing a lone state police cruising a couple feet behind him.

There was an exaggerated sigh from the passenger seat. Ben waited, leave it to Knope to press a clearly worthless topic and ignore the defensive undertone of the reply expertly.

"So, what is 'it'?

"It's stupid…you wouldn't understand." He shifted uneasily in his seat, why was the seatbelt suddenly choking him?

"Uh, three words," She held up her hand, counting off as she went along. "Murder. She. Wrote."

"Enough said." Ben shivered at the improper image those words brought up, swerving a bit over the yellow line and praying he wouldn't get another ticket by having Leslie in the car. Again. The first implicated a ridiculously heated debate on ducks robbing people of their sandwiches in the park whilst eating Calzone's.

"Leslie, at some point you have to stop and think about the lyrics in a song, what is the main reason the guy in the song would be coaxing the words from the dirt and the earth for one."

"She's 'something out of a dream', right? It's obvious he's talking about falling in love at first sight."

"But that's what I mean, most people will take a certain lyric, mainly the chorus, and remember it—without really taking in account the complexity of it, the concept of why he would be coaxing the words from the dirt and the earth in the first place. What drives him to do it and why can't he get her out of his mind? Has she been avoiding him out of fear for being rejected, or is it the other way around? Maybe he likes a challenge." He took a breath and shrugged. "Maybe I'm just digging too deep into this whole thing. I don't necessarily have a problem with song, the band either, sometimes I reflect longer on what others don't see often."

"Good point Ben, very intuitive." She faced the window, her tone was thoughtful, possibly a tinged of hurt in her words, as she asked the next question. "Why did you say I wouldn't understand?"

"Because…honestly, I don't think you give yourself nearly enough credit." He paused and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, considering he'd only heard about the incident he mentioned next from Chris. How Chris even caught wind of that is beyond him. "Take Turnbill mansion, for starters."

She pulled back the sleeve on her right wrist. "Still got the scar from that one."

"In fairness, no one asked you to chain yourself to a gate, Leslie." He said, smiling. "A gate, which didn't open from the middle. Since checking for things like that wasn't in your, _oh so_ _courageous,_ plan."

"Ahem, the 'infamous Freddy Spaghetti', anyone?" Two could play at this game.

"Well, the Turnbill's were jerks anyway."

Leslie turned the station back and smiled. So what if none of the department genuinely cared for him? She'd found out more than she needed to know in one day than the entire time he'd visited.

My girls a switchblade, a bright light over a cityscape, wherever she goes, I'm gonna chase.

The camera zooms in on Ron sitting in his office, contemplating faking his own death if it got him away from his ex and his diminutive insignificant work slaves, er, co-workers for good. Although those Yoga classes Tammy had persuaded him to attend were doing wonders for his equilibrium, and despite in the bedroom as well, he had to doubt they were doing anything for his perception. He'd watched Leslie walk into the department with a sort of 'puppy glee' she usually carried, creeping into Ben's office presumably to scare the poor bastard out of his wits, and viewing this situation gave him the shining bubble of thought on if a fall from the top floor would be enough to kill him. Nah, he'd probably end up in the hospital having various tubes protruding everywhere while Tammy, sensible Tammy number one, wrote the will, stating everything belonged to her.

Which it did.

She didn't have to know that tidbit yet, right? A lot of people didn't have to know everything about Ronald Ulysses Swanson, and he didn't need to know about any of them. It was definitely an unspoken rule around the office. He shuddered at the mere mention of his middle name, no one definitely needed to know about that.

Little miss impertinent April probably knew, but Ron doubted she would say anything. It was their secret way of keeping the peace.

Ron knew he was an essential piece of the puzzle and that is why he stays quietly seated in his office today. What puzzle you ask? Well, after setting up that ridiculously boring Squirrel convention when Leslie hinted that she always wanted to be 'closer to nature', it was practically a no brainer calling Ben to remind him of the meeting scheduled next week and stating they should to run over some last minute budget adjustments. When Ben arrived, however, there was no Ron to be found. Only a sheet of paper and two files marked 'Important' on his desk. Ron also knew that Leslie had to drive by the Hall to get to her house. Everyday. And once she saw Ben's car, naturally her curiosity would take over.

The camera pans in above Ron's desk; where he sits smirking and twiddling his thumbs.

"Why play matchmaker to these two insipid workers? Some say I owe Leslie a thousand favors, which is, basically ten in my book. Some say I look better without a mustache." He tells the camera, cocking an eyebrow. "I usually laugh proudly in those people's faces."

"Maybe I just like to see Ben be put through the Knope Wringer, because the suspense of this so-called 'dynamic duo' finally getting together is killing me. And it would do them both a tremendous amount of good for that stick that's been up their ass lately. And since Chris is so oblivious to anything other than the word 'vitamin' around here, it was short of nothing leaving the trail of obvious crumbs. I haven't had to do a damn thing."

Ron glares pointedly at the cameraman. "If you tell anyone about this, regardless if you swear on your mother's soul, I will personally hunt you down and take you to my cabin. Where I will proceed to fire off several rounds either at you or around you, several times."

Ron gets up to open his door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to catch a Salmon using my custom 20-inch hook."

The camera pans in at the window right of Ron's desk, where two pigeons seated in their regular spots, are flying away. In the background, the camera catches Ben donning his trademark Ray Bans and giving a salute behind Leslie's back.


End file.
